The Farmer's Wife #023

Anya drifted through the air above the forest. All was dark; she could only faintly make out the trees below. She had no control over her drifting; she could only watch as she was buffeted here and there by frigid winds.

She knew what was coming. If the shadow thought to inspire fear by making her wait, she would not let it succeed. She waited, as calmly as she could.

Before long, the darkness came. It coiled up out of the forest into a great, writhing mass that tangled around her limbs and pulled her painfully to a halt. It wrapped around her face so that she could barely breathe, and two eyes blinked open not a handsbreadth away from her.

It was terrifying, but she did not let her fear show.

My little leafling comes to me again, whispered the voice, from the corners of her mind.

"What do you want this time? I have done everything you have asked."

Not well enough. Her hand wrenched and spasmed with pain, and she gasped. The Purgator suspects. If you betray our cause before it is done...

An image of Eugen's dessicated corpse forced itself on her mind before she could summon the will to resist. "Okay! Okay..." she sobbed. "I will not give you away..."

Good.

"How... How do you know what he thinks?"

The foolish man opened his mind to my forest as he tried to find me. Once opened, a door can be passed through both ways...

"Your... Your forest?" The image of the empty child rose up in her mind. "What did you do to that boy?"

Even if you possessed the knowledge you would require to recognise it, you have not the wit to comprehend it nor the wisdom to divine its significance.

"He was just a child!"

He was a resource. A pawn. Provisions.

"You had no right-..."

Hnnnnnnnnnh. Right? Silly little leaf. I had the power. That is all that matters.

She stayed silent.

I can see your thoughts, leafling, though you try to stop me. You think yourself better than me, thinking of right rather than power. But look at our... arrangement. He is hardly more than a boy, and yet you do as I instruct you with hardly a thought. I have given you the power to save your son. That power is all that matters.

She said nothing, but the guilt burned in her like a white-hot brand.

Continue your work, and you may yet see your son again.

Suddenly, the shadows that surrounded her tore themselves away, and without their support she fell screaming towards the treetops below.

The Farmer's Wife #022

The journey out of the forest seemed shorter than the journey in. A dull grey light began to seep through the treetops as they walked. Not long after that, they found the remains of their campfire, the ground around the ash still slightly warm to the touch.

The light grew steadily brighter as they walked, and soon - in no time at all, it seemed - they had reached the brink of the forest.

As Matthias stepped out of the treeline and towards the loggers' cabin in the distance, it felt as though a weight was lifting from his shoulders. His ears, grown accustomed to the fell silence of the forest, rejoiced simply at the sound of the breeze.

It was almost sunset; the shadows of the trees followed them almost all the way to the cabin.

It was only when Matthias laid the child gently down on the cabin's floor and sat down himself that he felt the tired ache of his muscles and the pangs of hunger in his stomach.

Anat and Anya pooled the food they carried with them and, once the fire was lit, Anya set about cooking a simple stew over it. She worked at the fire, and the three clergymen were discussing matters of great ecclesiastical import, beyond Matthias' knowledge and station. Only he was left alone.

He walked outside into the twilight. The sun had set, and dusk was drawing near. The twilight had that eerie, alien feel to it, like the world was not quite itself.

He felt a soft, cold breeze spring up and brush gently against him. The chill felt good against his skin; it was a welcome touch of reality after the dark forest. He stood for a while, not really thinking at all, simply being.

After a while, he knelt in the cold earth, and poured his heart out to his god. His mother had taught him to do it; she had never explained why he should, when no answer ever came. But he had done it, and often since.

When he eventually opened his eyes, it was dark. He stood slowly, his legs stiff with the cold, and went inside.

The fire burned brightly in the firepit. Someone - Anya, he thought - had moved the child closer to it, and he sat propped against the remains of a bed, staring blankly into the flames.

Matthias shivered.

The others were just beginning to eat; Anya gestured to the small pot above the fire, and Matthias ladled some half-hearted stew into a small wooden bowl and sat down to eat.

They ate in silence. When Valdis had finished, he spoke. "We go to the village tomorrow, and spend the night at the inn there. If there is a shadow as powerful as this in these lands, there will be more talk of darkness. We will here what we can, and continue from there."

"And the boy?" said Anat. "He is not fit to travel far himself, and we cannot have Matthias carrying him wherever we go."

"We will see what can be done for him in the morning, I think. For now, we should sleep. It has been a hard day."

All of them, even Thanos, nodded in agreement. They spread out on the floor in front of the fire and slowly drifted off to sleep.

The Farmer's Wife #021

From a little way away, Thanos spoke. "I appreciate your desire to perform good works, Brother Valdis, but if I understand you correctly, there is nothing more to be gained here."

Valdis gestured to were Anat stood beside the child, still praying. "There is a child's life to be saved, Brother. I would call that something gained."

Thanos shook his head. "The child should be in the care of a Temple, and we should be on our way. If we do not leave this black forest now, we will still be here come nightfall."

Valdis sighed angrily, but inclined his head towards Thanos. "You are right. It would be unwise to wait here any longer. When Brother Anat finishes his prayers, we will leave."

Thanos did not even look satisfied; he simply nodded and turned away.

Valdis and Matthias sat, waiting patiently for Anat to finish. When the old man looked up, his eyes were sad. "The child still lives somewhere within, but his spirit is... buried. Suffocated. If I am to do anything for him, it will take time."

Valdis nodded. "Bring him, then. He can walk well enough. Let us get out of this wretched place."

They picked up their torches from where they had left them and set off. Valdis led the way; he had always had a good sense of direction.

The boy walked where Matthias led him, but he stumbled over every root and half-fell into every crack in the ground. Eventually Matthias gave his torch to Anat and picked the child up; he was light, and lay limply in his arms.

The feel of the boy in his arms reminded Matthias of his brief training with the Beneficari at the Temple. A child from the nearby village had been taken by illness, a creeping, gnawing sickness that had proved beyond Aleia's power to heal. He had been sick for many months before it finally took him, and it had left him wasted and gaunt.

When the Beneficari came to perform the final rites over the body and lay the boy out for the funeral, it had fallen on Matthias to carry the boy from his deathbed to where they were to do their work. The boy had felt lighter than he should be, and limp, just as this boy now felt.

The thought of that day sent a chill up Matthias' spine. He had never doubted more the beneficence of the Silver Crown than that day, with that child in his arms.

Anya walked up to his side. Her face was still wet with tears.

"He looks... so sad." She reached out to brush the child's face with her hand.

Matthias frowned. "He just looks... empty... to me."

She smiled grimly. "You have no children of your own?"

"No."

"Of course not. You're too young."

He gestured to his cassock. "That is not the only reason."

"Oh. Of course. I am sorry."

Of all the things she had said, that was what she was sorry for?

"If you were a father, you would know. That look..."

He inclined his head politely, but said nothing. He did not think she would have heard him if he had spoken; her eyes were fixed on the child. They walked like that in silence for some time, and then she choked back a sob and turned away.

The Farmer's Wife #020

Some time later, Anat left Anya sitting quietly a little way away and came back to the others.

Valdis and Matthias had extricated the pale child from the hollow. When Matthias had grasped his hand, he had stumbled blindly where the young Purgator led him. Not once did he look up, not even to see where he was going. His gaze remained fixed in the distance.

"Can you help him?" asked Valdis of Anat.

Anat stared at the child for several seconds before answering. "I do not know." He shook his head. "We know little of Vessels. Most that come to us are beyond any help save the final mercy. And... this child is strange."

"Strange?" asked Matthias.

"Vessels are mortals inhabited by shadows. Normally human, though I have heard tell of Vessels among the Ylln. But if there was a shadow in this child... Well, we would know beyond any doubt."

"He is a Vessel prepared, but unfilled," said Valdis thoughtfully.

Anat looked up. "What do you mean? Are you certain such a thing even exists?"

Valdis shook his head. "One can never be certain with Ygn's works. But... I have heard rumours of such things. Vessels that do not willingly give themselves as hosts to darkness, but are instead bound by some dark magic, so that any shadow can inhabit them."

"It makes sense," said Matthias. "He looks... empty. Like his mind has been cored out and only his body is left."

Valdis frowned. "It is not in Ygn's power to destroy the soul. Corrupt, yes, harm, yes, but it is not hers to banish it entirely."

"Then either her power has grown, or the child remains somewhere within," said Anat, stepping forward and rolling up his sleeves. "I will see what the Healer of mind and body reveals to me."

He placed his hand on the child's forehead and began muttering a prayer under his breath. Faintly, distantly, but definitely, Matthias felt the whisper of hope that marked the presence of Aleia. He basked in it for a moment, but then Valdis pulled him aside. His face was dark.

"The Brothers at the Temple taught you about willing Vessels of darkness, did they not?"

"Of course, Brother."

"Then you will know that even the assumption of a willing Vessel is a work of great power. The human soul cries out for life, for freedom, for choice. Even with the conscious decision of the victim to suppress that cry, it is still strong, and it is hard for any but the most powerful shadows to overcome it."

Matthias nodded.

"This, then..." continued the Purgator, gesturing at the child. "If this is what we think it is, it is the work of a shadow shadow more powerful and more cunning than anything I myself have ever battled. The suppression of a human soul that is still actively fighting for freedom..." He shook his head. "Aranaus guard us if we are to face a shadow powerful enough to do it."

"They are children, Brother. Perhaps it is... easier?"

"Children are strong, in their own way. But you may be right. Why, then, are three of the children dead?"

"Perhaps the power of the shadow overwhelms them?"

Valdis nodded. "Yes. That makes sense. We will make a Purgator of you yet. But... this child is not dead. Why leave him behind if the process succeeded?"

Matthias' brain span, connections lighting up in his mind. "Perhaps this is another kind of failure... An unsuitable Vessel, even though he survived."

"Yes. Good. What else?"

"Or... or... Oh no."

Valdis' brow furrowed. "What? What is it?"

"Or this was a test. This shadow is... experimenting. Improving."

The look of pride on the Purgator's face was mingled with something much darker. "Then these were not the last."

Matthias nodded grimly. "More children are going to be Taken."

Extra: The Northern Count

The Northern Count, the calendar most commonly used upon the continent, arose as a union of the crude, but agriculturally useful solar calender that has been used by farmers since time immemorial with the liturgical lunar calendar favoured by the various churches of the gods. Contrary to popular belief, there is no clear evidence that any of the gods, whether of the current pantheon or one of many more ancient ones, have expressed any feelings whatsoever on any form of calendar; on the whole, it has been the clergy and the governments and administrators of various regions which have imposed the various calendars on their subjects.

The amalgamation of the two types of calendar has resulted in a degree of imprecision and confusion, as evidenced in the naming of the months, especially Seed, and in the general variance in the place of days of liturgical import in relation to the seasons; 1st Hallows, for example, may be anywhere from the day after the winter solstice to four weeks thereafter. The Northern Count is so deeply embedded in the consciousness of the common man and in the administrative structure of the various churches and states, however, that it is unlikely to ever be displaced.

The Count begins on the winter solstice; that is, the first day of the year is also the shortest. The first "true month" of the year, Hallows, begins on the first day of the year on which a new moon rises. In some years (about two in every fifty-nine), 1st Hallows is the first day of the year; in other years, the days before 1st Hallows are shunted into the so-called "false month" of Fores. In any particular year, the month of Fores may not occur it all, or it may last as long as twenty-nine days.

From the 1st of Hallows onwards, each month begins with the day on which the new moon rises. In the past, this caused at times substantial variation due to the problem of observing the moon in inclement weather; in more recent years, astronomy has allowed accurate prediction of the lunar cycle, with each month lasting either twenty-nine or thirty days.

The months are as follows:

Fores is a "false" month beginning on the first day of the year and ending on the day before the first new moon of the year.

Hallows is the first true month of the year and is the beginning of the liturgical calendar. Along with Feasts, it is one of the most important months of the liturgical year; various fasts, contemplations and ceremonies are prescribed by the churches of the various gods.

Hearths, named for the image of the family gathering around the hearth to wait out the last of the winter, is an otherwise uneventful month.

Waters marks the first lightening of the winter darkness; it is named for the period in the solar year marked by the first melting of the snow and frost in the northernmost territories, with which it roughly corresponds.

Songs marks the true end of winter and the beginning of spring. The name comes from the period of celebration it marks in the far north, as the deadly winter finally recedes, but in practice it is the start of the sowing season for most farmers, when the real work of the year begins.

Seeds is named for the start of the sowing season in the north, where the frost takes longer to fully clear away. In reality, if a farmer in the more southern reaches has not started his work by the start of Seeds, he is unlikely to have a successful harvest.

Rains marks a period of heavy rains for the north, and indeed for many other areas, though in some places it is a misnomer, as the summer heat can render it a hot and dry month.

Feasts starts shortly after the summer solstice; it is the second major month in the liturgical calendar. In contrast with the quiet, contemplative tone of Hallows, it is marked by joyful celebration and a number of holy feasts - hence the name of the month.

Sons is a relatively quiet month for many, with the hard work of sowing done and the harvest yet to be ready. For women, however, Sons marks the arrival of the progeny fathered in the cold and quiet winter months.

Harvest is rather self-explanatory; it marks the month in which the harvest is typically begun, though it is begun earlier in the north and later in the warmer south.

Cures - the name derived from the act of curing meat - is the month in which preparations are made for the coming winter. Food is pickled, cured and otherwise stored away, firewood is gathered, and homes are repaired for the coming snow.

Frost marks the start of the winter proper, and the year gradually winds down as the cold descends.

Deeps is the last true month of the year, marked by the darkest depths of winter. Occasionally it is cut a few days short by the winter solstice.

Echoes is the false month that takes up the time between the new moon at the end of Deeps and the winter solstice that marks the start of the next year; like Fores, it varies in length year by year.

Subdivision of the months varies from region to region and from church to church. The most common subdivision is that of the Church of the Silver Crown, since it is by far the dominant sect across the continent. In the Church's calendar, the 1st of every true month and every fifth day thereafter (the 6th, the 11th, and so on to the 26th) is a holy day of rest; this produces a regular six holy days regardless of the length of the month. As Echoes and Fores take place in the depths of winter, few people actively work on any day regardless, and the journey to a place of worship may be incredibly dangerous; thus, no holy days are generally prescribed, though this practice varies from region to region.

-   Anat Celion

    "Calendars of the Continent"

    (13 years before the Shattering)

The Farmer's a Wife #019

When his arm was secure, Valdis stood, businesslike again. "This is the place," he said. "The darkness is deepest here."

"Is that why they attacked us here?" asked Anya.

Valdis nodded, but then frowned. "Those shadows were beastly, unintelligent. This great a darkness so close to human settlement... every sign tells me that this is the work of a greater intellect. I am certain there is more to find here."

"We had best start looking, then," said Anat. "Let us not spend longer here than we must."

They spread out over the area. Valdis could not exactly location the epicentre, the wellspring from which the darkness flowed, and so they worked slowly across the forest.

It was Matthias that found him. A boy, sitting hunched-over in a washed-out hollow beneath a web of tree-roots.

When he first saw him, Matthias thought he was a statue. His skin was white as snow, and he was almost perfectly still. Only after staring for several seconds did he see the slow, shallow breaths, the occasional blinks of eyes that otherwise stared straight ahead. The boy's clothes were ragged and torn, 

He clambered down into the hollow, trying to look as kind and unthreatening as possible. "Hey," he said, smiling gently and reaching out to the child with one hand. "It's okay. I'm here to help. You're safe now."

The child did not respond, not even with a flicker of his eyes.

"Hey." A little louder. "Hey." Louder again. Nothing.

He reached out and grasped the child's shoulder, shook him gently. Still, not even the faintest glimmer of recognition. The child stared straight ahead with dark, dead eyes.

A chill ran up Matthias' spine, and he wormed his way out of the hollow. "Brother!" he called to Valdis, who quickly stepped towards him. He nodded towards the child. Valdis looked.

"He's in some kind of trance. I tried to wake him, but he doesn't respond. It's like he doesn't even know I'm there."

Valdis nodded, slowly, staring at the child. He climbed awkwardly down next to the child, grasped his hand, and drew the Silver Blessing on his forehead. The boy did not reached, but wisps of shadow sparked from the boy's forehead for a moment. The Purgator sighed. "A vessel, prepared but not yet... filled."

Matthias stared. "But... he's only a child."

The look on Valdis' face was grim. "Some vessels are willing. Some are not."

"Do you think he's... her child?"

Valdis shook his head. "He was taken in his sleep. This child is in day-clothes. Come, help me out." Seeing Matthias' concern, he added, "He's not going anywhere at the moment."

As Matthias helped Valdis out of the hollow, Thanos called to them. "Brother Valdis, you may wish to see this."

In another hollow, very similar, lay the lifeless bodies of three other children. Matthias' heart grew cold and hollow in his chest at the sight.

"No!" Anya's desperate scream came from behind him, but by the time he could react she had already pushed past him into the hollow and was frantically turning over the bodies.

She turned over the third one, and Matthias could see the tension ease from her body, but she nonetheless collapsed besides the three bodies, sobbing desperately. "Few fates are worse than an uncertain one," murmured Valdis.

Anat stepped carefully down into the hollow and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Come, Anya. This is not a place anyone should be." He led her up and out. As she stepped past him, Matthias caught a glimpse of her face in the light of his torch. She looked pale, and gaunt, and the anger that had burnt within her had been replaced with black despair.

He had never seen that look on any person that would live through the night.

Extra: The Midnight Crown

Hunt the servants of the Midnight Crown ruthlessly, for as long as the Midnight Crown has any hold on this world, Men shall find no peace here.

The servants of Yanor spread lies and deceit, plotting the downfall of kings and empires. Where they go, there can be no trust between men. Justicari of My Lady Malana, go forth and cut down their lies and the dark Men that spread them.

The servants of Ygn are seldom Men, but creatures she has shaped from the darkness. They skulk and steal and kill and destroy, and no man, woman or child is safe while they walk in the twilight. Purgatori, My servants; go forth and strike down the darkness wherever it may rear its head; and when Men seek to gain Ygn's favour that they may command the darkness themselves, the Justicari will aid you in your duty.

And though the Child Imara is no more guilty of evil than a wolf hunting sheep to feed himself and his young, the sheep cry out for Our protection. Even as she guides those who die in suffering into the realm beyond, she draws strength from their death, and so adds to the power of the Midnight Crown. If We are to defeat them, she must be starved of strength. Beneficari, children of My Child Aleia, go forth and ease the suffering of the world and those that dwell within; and where that suffering is caused by evil men or beasts, let the Justicari and the Purgatori aid you.

So shall We extinguish the Midnight Crown and end their hold on this world.

I have spoken.

-   The Words of Aranaus,

    Father of the Silver Crown,

    Lord of Light,

    Silver Warrior,

    Shadow's Bane,

    Guardian of the Just,

    Protector of the Faithful,

    to Father Benedre and the assembled Faithful at Fell Peak,

    The first year of the reign of the Silver Crown

    (Some 200 years before the Shattering)